The White Complex

Everything changes for 1109853, more commonly known as Christine, when her closest friend discovers cracks in the white complex, a massive living space filled with teenagers without memories. When people start to disappear, to what lengths will Christine take to escape the white?

3. White Death

After all hairs on my head have been thoroughly prodded, pulled, and curled, I leave Pinky's side and set out to find Mark. The panic suddenly filling me is intense. Zombies, empty shells, mindless, hopeless. It's scares me. It honest to death scares me. I want to run through the maze of corridors but I restrain myself, setting my pace at a fast walk.

Finally, I slow my pace in front of a door labeled 5814787. If he's not in here, finding him will be a lost cause. Slowly, hesitantly, I rap my wrist lightly on his door. I hear a muffled shuffle from within, and soon enough the door clicks open to reveal a sandy, dark haired, serious boy: Mark. "What is it?" He stammers, confused by my expression of utter panic.

"I want," I stutter, "out!" I say in a harsh, hushed undertone. Instantly we begin to walk to our hiding place in the bathroom. On the way, Mark constantly looks over at me, trying to understand my trembling hands and nervous, wide eyes.

"You're not okay," He mutters as we reach the entrance to the bath. I only turn to him, staring into his eyes and we pause in place. Quickly he grabs me softly by the hand and pulls me into our secret corner, kicking on a rushing stream of chilly water. He bushes a loose curly lock from my face and looks me straight in the eye. "You're going to be fine. I am going to take care of you Chrissy," his words and touch comfort me and I look into his dark icy eyes, somehow warm in the moment.

"Then let's get out of here," I mumble softly as he wraps me into a hug uncharacteristically.

We planned to leave in eleven sleeps. We had no way of counting the days other than in that way. We can't see the sun. Instead, every (I'm assuming) night, every light in the complex shuts off except small, single room lights. Mark and I agreed on finding roughly seven people each to follow us. I had feared the guilt of leaving others behind would be too unbearable if we did make it out alive. After quietly asking people to meet me in bathroom each day, I eventually found my seven.

The day of the escape:

After taking my first meal in the mess hall, I race down the hall and into the commons where I sign to four different a girls. The other three I originally asked had already been taken, two of them completely transformed. As I walked through the expanse, something caught my eye. Mark was standing in front of the door. The door that people disappeared into. He had been strangely out of touch the last few days and for two whole days I hadn't even seen him. He said he had been planning, slowly taking rations of his meals and stuffing them into bags. I had been doing the same thing, seeing as we had no idea where we were or what the outside would be like, if we even made it that far... I walked up to where he stood, but he didn't even notice me. His mouth was moving but nothing was coming out. I followed his eyes to the moving light board and I understood. 1109853. 1109853. 1109853. The numbers ran in a red blur of dots across the dark screen. It was my number. My ID number. It was too late. I would have to go through the door and be changed like most of the people here had become. How many normals were left? Eighteen? They had been picking up the pace in the last few days, taking many victims at once. The thought is horrifying. I feel my face go slack and Mark finally notices me. "It's Time to go," he says quietly to me. He slightly pats my shoulder and I flinch. "You know the plan?" I nod. Of course I know the plan, but it's too late now.

"They will come for me in the night if I don't walk through that door right now. You understand that?"

"Yes," he replies, "and to make certain there is no room for error, we need to move the escape up," he says in an almost inaudible whisper.

"Yes," I reply stiffly and he helps push me away from the glowing screen. 1109853. 1109853. 1109- my thoughts are interrupted by a loud shrill echoing throughout the commons area. Everything is suddenly dead silent. I turn towards the location of the sound emission to see a small crowd. A few zombies fumble about the crowd, always looking in different directions. I push past their rag doll bodies, Mark following until I reach the center of the cluster. There's a girl crying on her knees and two bodies lying haphazardly on the ground, still as corpses. I recognize the girl. She calls herself Titania. She holds the limp hand of one of the bodies in her clasped palms.

"What happened?" Mark shouts from behind me, trying to control the situation. The sudden sound jolts some of the zombies and they begin to bumble away from the cluster mindlessly. Titania continues to sob, trying to form words in her haggard mouth.

"It's Lucas," she sputters between heaving sobs, "he's dead," one unzombiefied girl in the lingering crowd gasps in horror. I slowly sink to one knee and hold two fingers to the lifeless forms neck.

"She's right," I whisper and Mark cuts in.

"How did this happen?" The girl chokes and tries to form words.

"Ever since he went through that door and returned, he has acted different," Titania mutters, crying.

"I'm afraid that's happened to everyone who disappeared," Mark says stiffly. That only makes Titania cry harder. I give Mark a look and place a hand on the poor girl's shoulder. She shrugs it off.

"I loved him!" She cries in a sudden outburst. "They killed him! They made him this way and he died! They killed poor Ollie too!" She shouts gesturing to the other body. No one wept over the corpse. All his friends had already been turned.

"So he just fell over dead?" Mark asks, confused.

"No, he jumped off a cliff stupid!" Shouts the weeping Titania angrily. Mark steps backs and wipes his hand over his face, pushing back loose sandy hair. He's not good in emotional situations like this. I touch his arm slightly but he backs away, walking in the opposite direction.

"Mark?" I call after him, but he continues without looking back, a solemn yet agitated. I don’t know how to handle the situation, so I walk away from it, a deserter.

“Christine?” The words echo out familiarly from outside my bedroom. I just sit there solemnly on my bed, thinking.

“You can come in,” I reply to the familiar voice. He doesn't use that name very often. In steps Mark looking very tired, his hair falling in a mess over his brow. He walks over to stoop and sits on the bed next to me.

“Look, Crissy, I’m sorry for how I acted today. I was rather insensitive. I just... I just have so many feelings inside me, all trying to express themselves. Sometimes things come out wrong. I am just so frustrated right now,” Mark says forlornly, various emotions playing across his face like a projector display. Anger, sadness, confusion, all bundled up into one tightly bound package. I am slightly shocked. His words make him feel so transparent, touchable, physical, real. One thing he had always been good at was hiding his emotions, unlike me, but for once, it felt good to see him like this.

“Who wouldn’t be frustrated in our situation?” I say matter-of-factly. He looks at me, a sarcastic look lighting up his face for a mere second.

“You can say that again,”

“Sometimes life is just stupid,” I reply blatantly. He stares off toward the opposing wall in front of us. He lowers his head and parts his lips, ready to say something.

“We need to get out early. I can’t afford for you to go all wonky on me,” he says in an almost inaudible whisper. I nod almost as imperceptibly. He stands up go, walking towards the door, but turns back for a second. “Thank you,” He says in a sweet, gentle voice and he disappears.

Slowly and in delay more and more people began to appear. I sat on Mark’s bed watching the small crowd fumble in. I really hoped the cameras wouldn’t see us in the dark. At least everyone was doing a rather fine job at keeping silent, tucked in as far as they could out of the camera’s scope. 8,9,10,... I counted. Everyone was here, asides from those who already had been taken. We at watched as Mark easily slid off the metal plate, revealing our only hope.